It’s unfair women have to cover for working mums at Easter

I’m counting down the days until my much-needed Easter break when I will lie, poolside, feel the sun on my face and the stress of life leave my tired body.

But, my Easter break is coming a whole two weeks after everyone else’s.

Why? Because I lack the one crucial thing that will guarantee me time off in that prized slot in the calendar: children.

Because I’m afraid Easter is now the new Christmas, but without any presents.

For the childless like me, it’s yet another kick in the teeth, whether we’re fighting for time off or fighting the crowds of kids on seemingly interminable school holidays.

The downsides of being a non-mum at Easter still catch me unawares, even at the age of 44.

This is a relatively new phenomenon.

As a child, Easter to me meant a couple of chocolate eggs and a church service. It was relatively low-key.

Fun, because you got to choose your egg, but otherwise, just another weekend.

I can’t pinpoint when it exploded into a 14-day event, but I do have a theory that Easter became more of a production with the rise of social media.

As parents got sucked into competitive photo opportunities (just look at World Book Day now) so Easter was an obvious consumer target.

Now post-pandemic, there are elaborate menus and 50 types of hot cross bun, and it also shines a very bright spotlight on who can — and can’t, apparently — legitimately take time off work.

Just as spring properly gets going, along comes this insane festival of chocolate and horrendous themed activities and everywhere — from stately homes to cafes — is now festooned with ribbons and cardboard rabbits.

Just after lockdown, I booked Easter week off to do a bit of travelling around the UK and see various friends.

I was excited about it, but came into the office a couple of weeks before to be confronted by a female colleague, raging that she wasn’t able to have the time off as one of us needed to be in the office.

She had booked Easter weekend away, it was non-refundable and — she played the ace — it was in the school holidays, and she didn’t have childcare that week.

I can understand mothers wanting Christmas Day off when kids are small enough to believe in the magic of it. But since when has the Easter Bunny been a thing?

So, I had to back down and take my week off (using five days of holiday and not the four it would have been with the Easter Bank Holiday) a couple of weeks later.

“You don’t have kids,” she’d said. ‘It doesn’t matter when you take the time off.”

This is true, but it felt, and still feels, as though my time is deemed less important, and that I don’t need a break.

Being childless makes my needs less of a priority than those of any parent.

Being childless, and single? Welcome to the bottom rung of the societal ladder!

I once asked for three weeks off over Easter, and was told that could only happen if it was a honeymoon.

So, if you don’t find a life partner and get married, well, you can’t have such a long holiday.

Sorry! I enjoy Christmas, despite the fact we are all expected to go to my brother’s house because he’s the only one with a child, my gorgeous four-year old nephew.

He and his wife decide what’s happening without consulting me and my parents, who are in their 80s and aren’t that mobile.

Plus, we all must eat an early dinner to accommodate my nephew.

If you don’t have children, you are always the supporting act to the stars of the show — the children and their parents.

But Easter feels even worse, when we have to endure a non-boozy lunch, or an egg hunt in the garden that we all shiver through whilst my (delightful) nephew screams with joy.

My role is to bring presents, show interest and try not to swear too much... I’m exhausted afterwards with the effort.

During those two weeks of holiday, it’s guaranteed everywhere you dare to go will be heaving with shrieking kids.

And I don’t just mean family-friendly places. I mean pubs, exhibitions, hotels and even smart restaurants.

A couple of years ago, I was excited to get a table at a brilliantly reviewed restaurant in Manchester.

At the table next to ours was a family with two small children wearing bunny ears and watching iPads with the sound turned up.

The entire restaurant was treated to the intrusive and tinny sound of cartoons.

I leant over and politely asked that they turned them off. They did, but made their displeasure clear!

Perhaps you feel I’m being mean. But I spend a lot of time fitting in with family life, and this isn’t reciprocated.

I can’t ask friends with kids if they fancy going to the pub at five minutes’ notice, because they have to organise babysitting.

I’m not imposing my life choices on people, but they — in some ways out of necessity — are imposing theirs on me.

So, this Easter, I’m afraid to say I’ve given in.

I couldn’t face the tension in the office, so I haven’t booked the time off. What would be the point? I know it would cause drama and anywhere I went I’d be assailed by sticky fingers and shrieks.

But two weeks afterwards, I’ve booked into an adults-only hotel on the Canary Islands, and intend to enjoy the relaxation and peace.